Zombies, horror films, books, and an intense love of animals. These four things pretty much sum up everything you'll ever need to know about me.

 

I was never ready for the world. It’s just a lot to take in, especially when you’re a dysfunctional human being who can’t do everyday tasks without having panic attacks. Contrary to my blog’s name, I did not come and conquer. I flat out failed.

I started this blog because I thought writing would help me cope, but most of the time I can’t even put into words what I’m feeling. So I think I’m going to delete this in the morning.

As much as I share on this site, there are some things that are off limits, mostly because it forces me to admit things to others that I don’t even like to admit to myself. And because writing about it means I actually have to face it, to know that whatever it is, it’s there and it isn’t going away. With that being said, I want to talk a little bit about one of those things that are off limits, while being as vague as possible, because it’s been on my mind all day.

I got a call earlier. I saw the number and instantly recognized it, but didn’t pick it up. I was scared out of my mind. My heart was racing and I felt paralyzed. It took me a while to listen to the voice mail they left me, asking to call them back. I didn’t. And I never will after how it ended, not after how humiliated it left me. But even knowing that I’ll probably never speak to them again, I still feel the anxiety crashing down on me. I hate it. I hate having to feel this way.

I’ve been trying to write on here more lately, like I once used to, but I usually don’t have anything to say. Which I find strange because during any other time I always have an endless stream of thoughts in my head. But the moment I sit down to write, nothing comes to mind, aside from stupid crap. Like right now. All I can think to talk about is how disgustingly humid it is in my room. Everything, including my blankets, feels sticky and gross. And don’t even get me started on my pores. I wish I had a little inflatable baby pool filled with cold water in my room. That’s probably the next best thing to an AC, which I don’t have the luxury of owning.

And in case anyone is curious, the humidity is currently 95% on Long Island. With my luck, my parents will have no choice but to peel me from my bed come morning

I had a bad fight with my boyfriend tonight, so I’ve been going through old posts on my Tumblr for no other reason than to wallow in self pity some more.

It’s amazing to me how much I’ve changed in the past four years, and I’m not entirely sure it’s a good thing. Back then I was still the same sad person I am now, but I was a lot more hopeful about life. I had all these seemingly impossible plans. I wanted to travel the world, join the peace corps, adopt kids, and try to lead a life worth living, a life that meant something to others. I don’t remember if I ever thought I’d actually achieve all those things, or if I just wanted some sort of structure in my life at that point because I had gotten out of an emotionally abusive relationship a few months prior. Either way, it makes me a bit sad. I’m so different now, so hardened. And reading all these posts, despite how naive, makes me miss the way I used to be. I wish I could somehow revert back to that person, but after everything I’ve gone through and learned these past four years, I think that’s impossible.

Last night was the first time in a while I had a zombie dream, and I feel paralyzed by it even though it wasn’t that bad. My friend and I were packing to go home from college when the zombie plague hit, and since our dorm had a few zombies milling about, we had to be careful. The worst part was that our rooms were on opposite sides of the building, so we had to separate. I think if I were in this situation for real, I wouldn’t even bother packing anymore, I’d just get the hell out. But my friend was insistent on it.

At one point this dog was in the room with me and kept making noise…and I crushed its muzzle with my bare hands, then left it out in the hallway. I still can’t get its whimpers out of my head. At that exact moment a zombie in a bloody wedding dress (cliche, right?) stepped into the hallway. I only saw her feet, but it was enough to shut the door and lock it. And for some reason, even with it shut and locked, the door was still open just a tiny bit, enough so that the zombie bride could possibly see me if I stood near it. I realized this and moved to the other side of the room. I guess she heard me, though, and she started pushing up against the door. That’s where my dream ended, and like always I woke up confused and too scared to move.

I can’t sleep at night anymore, or rather I don’t want to. I’m not sure what it is I think will happen if I close my eyes, but it’s enough to keep me lying awake. The only times I’ve seemed to get a decent six hours of sleep this week is when I’ve been at my boyfriend’s for the night. As soon as I lay down next him, it’s like I’ve taken a tranquilizer. I wish I could sleep next to him every night just for that simple fact alone.

I’ve spent my 18 years of life trying to be okay with the fact that humans fade in and out of each others’ lives. No matter how I think about it, I can’t make it sound romantic or poetic. To those who have already passed through my life and to those who eventually will: I love you. I miss you. The back door will always be unlocked if you ever feel like coming home.

(Source: dearalexandra)